


Overexposed: Based On A True Story

by behindtintedglass



Series: Parallel Hearts [3]
Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Canon-compliant alternate universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/behindtintedglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never expected that he and Adam would ever attempt to harmonize, because their music couldn’t be any more different from each other. He’s country to the core, while Adam has always leant more towards pop-rock. When they were invited back for <em>The Voice’s </em>benefit concert, they had both already agreed to separately do a medley of their own individual songs.</p><p>But then Adam had to come up with the <em>insane </em>idea that they perform it live as a mashup.</p><p>
  <em>Together.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the daylight we'll be on our own (but we don't have to be lonely tonight)

When Blake first stepped into the _The Voice_ stage with Adam—a lifetime ago, it seems—he never expected that they’d be back together like this.

He sneaks a glance over at the younger man, who is busy tuning his guitar backstage. They make quite the odd pair: Blake in his faded blue jeans, grey plaid shirt, and black suede vest; Adam in his snug leather pants and his fitted white cotton shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to show his toned, tattooed arms.

Even the guitars they have chosen to use for tonight’s performance are essentially different. Blake listens as the metal strings of Adam’s acoustic guitar produce a clear, bright tone that he knows will highlight the younger man’s falsetto well, in the same way that the softer, mellow sound of the nylon strings of his own classical guitar will complement the twang and timbre of his baritone.

He’s still in a state of disbelief at the absurdity of what they are about to do. Their managers had thought they were crazy. Adam had thought it was _ingenious._

“ _But you two don’t sound anything alike at all!”_

_“That’s exactly why it’s brilliant!”_

Blake shakes his head at the memory of that disastrous pre-production meeting. He never expected that he and Adam would ever attempt to harmonize, because their music couldn’t be any more different from each other. He’s country to the core, while Adam has always leant more towards pop-rock. When they were invited back for _The Voice’s_ benefit concert, they had both already agreed to separately do a medley of their own individual songs.

But then Adam had to come up with the _insane_ idea that they perform it live as a mashup _._

_Together._

“ _This,”_ Blake remembers saying, half-resigned and half-amused as their managers had looked on in horror when NBC actually approved, _“will either blow the ratings out of the water, or make us all jobless by the end of the night.”_

“ _Either way,”_ Adam had grinned at him, “ _it’s going to be legendary.”_

Blake is jolted out of his recollections when Carson signals that they are about to go live in a few seconds. He takes a deep breath and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder. From his peripheral vision, he sees Adam doing the same as the younger man moves to stand beside him.

“Ready, big country?”

Blake catches Adam gazing at him, and the way his features visibly soften when their eyes meet makes Blake’s heart _ache._

“Whenever you are, rock star.”

The stage lights brighten as they step out onstage. They strum their guitars as one, and the crowd roars.

Adam’s music is usually upbeat, while his own tends to flow sedately, but tonight they meet somewhere in the middle as Adam slows his rhythm and Blake picks up his. Blake’s eyes flicker upwards from Adam’s hands—strumming and sliding in unison to his—and the way Adam is intently watching him warms Blake’s cheeks.

The corner of Adam’s mouth lifts in a small smile. He inclines his head as a signal, and Blake takes it as his cue to begin singing.

When Adam’s voice follows and layers Blake’s deep rumble with his own smooth tenor, Blake shivers at how it sounds—and feels—so damn _right._

The deafening noise of the arena fades into the background as Blake closes his eyes… and remembers.

It began on a night like this.

 

* * *

  **I never thought you'd pick up the phone  
****It's Friday night you should be out on the town**

 _Here I am waiting  
_ _I'll have to leave soon_

 **Didn't think you'd be  
** **Sitting at home all alone like me**

_Why am I holding on?_

* * *

 

It had been the night before the final results show, and all the tension had finally melted out of Blake’s bones. There had been nothing left to do except to wait for the announcement of the winner the following night. The actual competition was over, and all of them had turned in early after rehearsing for the encore performances they would be doing with some big-name musicians in the industry.

Blake should have felt relieved to finally have the free time he had once so badly craved. He had really missed his family and friends, and he had been happily surprised when they flew in to LA all the way from Oklahoma to support him and cheer for him. It had given him the courage and strength to leave everything he had out there on the stage—including his heart.

(In more ways than one, it had seemed.)

He should have been celebrating with them, thankful for the chance to be reunited after so long. Instead, his joy at finally being with his loved ones had been tempered by an unsettling feeling that was knotting his stomach. He had found himself sincerely apologizing to them as he pleaded for some time alone, explaining that he needed to rest for the finale the following night.

Instead, he had lain there in bed, alone in the apartment the network had designated for him, holding on to his phone and staring at the text message he had typed out on the screen yet somehow couldn’t bring himself to send.

 

* * *

**Nothing on TV, nothing to do**  
**Nothing to keep my mind off you and me  
** **And the way it was**

 _We knew this day would come_  
_We knew it all along  
_ _How did it come so fast?_

* * *

 

Blake had known for a fact that he was going to miss everyone—his coaches, his fellow contestants, the entire cast and crew. While it had seemed so cliché to say so in interviews, he had truly meant it whenever he’d describe how _The Voice_ had become his second home, and how the people making it up had become his second family.

“ _The Voice has become very dear to me,_ ” he had always said, “ _and while I can’t wait to be back home or maybe even start touring, God willing, it’s going to break my heart to part ways with these people.”_

Thankfully, all of his interviewers then would seem satisfied and pleased with this answer, and wouldn’t ask further.

Because Blake wasn’t sure how they’d react if he had found himself admitting that there had been one particular person who would have had the power to shatter his heart completely… because he didn’t know he already had it.

 

* * *

**Are you thinking about it now because  
** **I could be there in five?**

 _This is our last night but it's late  
_ _And I'm trying not to sleep_

* * *

 

When he had first auditioned for The Voice, Blake hadn’t known what to make of the charming—if somewhat cocky—young man that was waiting with him backstage. The only thing Blake had known about him based from what he had heard from Carson Daly—and from the gossip he had gleaned from the rest of the contestants—was that the man’s name was Adam Levine, and that apparently, he was quite the rising star in YouTube as the frontman for this indie band called Kara’s Flowers.

Blake had looked at his scuffed boots and had pulled down his cowboy hat, already feeling that his chances of going far in this show were getting slimmer by the minute, if his potential rivals—like this _ridiculously_ sexy guy—already had both their looks _and_ their popularity going for them.

He had been too busy feeling sorry for himself that he hadn’t realized that the very competition he had been assessing was actually coming over towards _him._

“Hey there!” Adam had flashed a disarming smile, and Blake had thought a little bitterly how unfair it was that Adam would have already conquered the female segment of the voting audience just with that smile alone. “You’re the Austin guy, right?”

“Uh,” Blake had stammered uneasily from having that smile directed at him, “No, I’m actually from Tennessee, though I’m originally from Oklahoma.”

Adam had laughed. “No, no, I’m not talking about _Texas_. I’m talking about your song!”

Thoroughly confused, Blake had blinked at him. “My song?” he repeated a little stupidly.

Adam had grinned at him. “You’re Blake Shelton, right? ‘Austin’ had spent five weeks at the Billboard chart. It was practically all I heard when my band was touring in Nashville!”

 _Of course his band already experienced touring,_ had been Blake’s first sullen thought. But then Adam’s words finally sunk in, and Blake had blurted out, a little dazedly:

“You actually _know_ who I am? _And_ my song?”

Adam had once again laughed and had punched Blake lightly on the arm, making Blake stare, unsure of what to make of it all. Since when had they become _this_ comfortable with each other? They had only just met, for God’s sake.

“You Okies have always been annoyingly modest,” Adam had teased. “Of course I know you, you great hick. ‘Austin’ was brilliant, are you kidding me? It was a hit that actually deserved to be one.”

Blake had shaken his head, and despite himself, he began to warm up to the guy. “I can’t take credit, really. I didn’t write it, I just happened to be the lucky guy assigned to sing it. Besides,” Blake had scratched his head, embarrassed at the way Adam was practically gushing over him, “I’m kind of the one-hit wonder guy. Not like you.”

Adam had looked at him then, and Blake would fondly remember that particular memory as the first time he had felt a weird tug in his chest when the calculated charm in Adam’s features faded into that familiar, softened gaze that Blake had grown to know so well.

“You know what, Shelton, I think you’re wrong.” Adam smiled at him. “I think… you’re here to stay.”

 

* * *

  **One more, one last time**

  _Cause I know, when I wake,  
__I will have to slip away_

* * *

 

As the season had progressed, Blake couldn’t understand why—out of everyone in the show—it was _him_ that Adam had always gravitated to. Blake had found himself hanging out more and more with Adam, and they would frequently end up rehearsing together, watching each other perform and giving each other pointers, making both of their coaches simultaneously amused and exasperated at them, since they were supposed to be on opposing teams.

Often, Blake would wonder at the way Adam’s eyes would follow him, no matter what he did. It didn’t help that those moments would always be perfectly caught on camera, making Blake even more puzzled whenever he’d watch the recorded telecast afterward and find Adam’s gaze always directed at _him_.

When the time for The Knockout Rounds had come, and his then coach Gwen Stefani decided to give him an impromptu makeover, Blake had stepped onto the battle ring wearing his elegant new suit and sporting his new hair (“The mullet has _got_ to go, Blake—seriously, what _decade_ are you living in?” Gwen had groused), and he had looked out into the audience where the rest of the contestants were watching—

And Blake had nearly stumbled at the intensity of that gaze.

Because Adam hadn’t even bothered to hide the blatant _hunger_ in his eyes.

He had been so distracted during his performance that Gwen was forced to declare his teammate as the winner—and from the corner of his eyes he had seen the way Adam jumped up from his seat in protest—and Blake could have _cried_ in relief when Michael Bublé pressed his button to steal him.

“I can’t let you go home, Blake, not without getting my hands on you,” the soulful jazz crooner had smiled at him, and Blake had balked when he saw Adam flashing an unwarranted glare at Blake’s new coach, “And I’m very excited to welcome you to Team Michael!”

 

* * *

  **We don't have to be lonely tonight  
****Need you, want you, I'm right here**

 _And when the daylight comes I'll have to go  
_ _But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close_

* * *

 

Later, when all the contestants who were through to the live shows were being interviewed on the red carpet, someone had asked him how he had felt when Michael Bublé had given him this second chance to continue on with the show.

Blake’s answer had been open and honest. “I feel humbled to be onstage with some of the most talented people I know,” and the camera had caught the way he had then glanced over at Adam, who was being interviewed a few feet away from him by another reporter, “And I’m just thankful for this chance to be with them. I’m not even a real vocalist—I’m just a country guy who happens to love singing.”

And then, to both reporters’ great surprise, Adam had turned away from his own interview to walk over to where Blake was standing.

“First of all, Blake,” Adam had interjected, in full view of all the reporters, whose cameras were all trained at them now, “You _are_ a real vocalist, and you’re a _damn good_ vocalist.”

The words were said so fiercely, so passionately, so undoubtedly _Adam_ that Blake had felt something warm unfurl beneath his ribs and course through the rest of his body in a heady rush until it lifted his mouth into a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Adam. Thank you very much.”

And Blake didn’t know if it was the sincerity of Adam’s belief in him, the strength of the bond Adam had determinedly forged with him, or the heat that had emanated from the gaze Adam directed at him, but perhaps it had been the lethal combination of all three at that moment which made Blake’s heart suddenly decide to bypass his brain and go straight to his mouth:

“I love you, Adam.”

And as soon as the words had escaped him, it was also that moment when Blake had suddenly known for sure—not with the horror he had expected from having a revelation that had been literally _months_ in the making, but with a calm certainty in finally understanding why love songs exist—that he had meant it.

For a few heart-stopping seconds, all Adam had done was stare at Blake. But then Adam had responded in kind, and Blake’s heart had leapt to his throat—

“I love you too, Blake.”

—and had instantly plummeted back to his stomach when Adam followed that up with a cheeky wink:

“Totally in a non-sexual way.”

Blake had smiled tightly at the giggles of the reporters all around them and, swallowing back the bile of disappointment that had suddenly coated his tongue, had simply said:

“I can’t say the same.”

And Adam, taking it for the joke that it truly wasn’t, had merely thrown back his head and laughed.

 

* * *

**We don't have to be lonely tonight  
** **I know we shouldn't, but I don't care**

 _‘Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own  
_ _But tonight I need to hold you so close_

* * *

 

Blake had tried to fight it, he honest to God really did. But his heart’s stupid yearning had only grown stronger over the course of the live shows. Adam had been a constant presence by his side all throughout the competition—ever the charming, teasing, supportive best friend Blake had unexpectedly gained—but somehow that had made it all even worse, seeing how nothing had changed for Adam while _everything_ had changed for Blake.

Every week, Blake had been fervently praying that he’d have enough votes to get by, but it was only when Adam shockingly landed in the bottom two during the Top Six elimination night that Blake had started praying even more for Adam too, even though it was obvious that Adam had a bigger chance of winning this competition than him—

But Blake wasn’t in the business of lying to himself, and he had known the simple truth of what he was doing: he had been praying for Adam and himself to stay just a little bit longer, because he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Adam just yet.

(He doubted he ever could.)

And yet all good things did come to an end, and Blake’s prayers could only go as far as the finals night, where Blake had miraculously ended up in the Top 3 along with Adam. Blake had given it all he had for his love of the music coursing through his spirit… and for the man who had finally given his soul something real to sing about.

He never wanted it to end. Even though he had known that tonight would be the last night he would ever see Adam, _he never wanted it end._

 _One more, one last time,_ he prayed desperately, and he wondered if the heavens were sick of him chanting Adam’s name more than God’s—

—and he ended up nearly dropping the phone he had been staring blankly at for the past several minutes when it suddenly beeped and vibrated with an alert.

His heart slammed against his chest when he saw that it was a text message from _him._

With shaking fingers, Blake swiped at the screen… and he stared in disbelief at the words that floated up at him.

| _Come over._ | 

 

* * *

  **I don't wanna be right, I don't wanna be strong  
****I just wanna hold you 'til the heartbreak's gone**

 _I never want it to stop_  
_Because I don't wanna start all over  
_ _Start all over_

* * *

 

Adam was barefoot when he answered the door. He had a bad case of bed hair, the brunette strands sticking out all over the place, and he was dressed in sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt. He stood there blinking confusedly, his pillow-wrinkled face backlighted by the glow inside his apartment.

Blake couldn’t remember looking at anything more beautiful in his life.

Dazedly, Adam stepped out on the porch. “Blake, you…” he swallowed thickly, “You actually came.”

Belatedly, Blake realized that he actually hadn’t been able to reply to Adam’s text. He had simply hopped on his pick-up truck and had driven like the hounds of hell were right on his heels. He hadn’t even bothered to change either—and what a sight he and Adam were at the moment: two grown men in their pyjamas staring at each other out on the street in the dead of the night.

“Yeah,” Blake said quietly, knowing that there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Slowly, Adam walked down the steps, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “Why?” he whispered.

There were so many ways Blake could’ve answered that question—he could’ve simply fallen back into the affectionate, snarky banter that had come to characterize their strange relationship—but right now, there was something unspeakably vulnerable in the way Adam was looking at him, and it rendered him physically incapable to give any other answer other than the honest one.

“Because you asked me to.”

_I'd go anywhere for you._

 

* * *

  **When the sun comes up, we can both move on  
****But we don’t have to be lonely tonight**

 _I was afraid of the dark  
_ _But now it's all that I want_

* * *

 

Adam had stopped right in front of him. There were only inches separating their bodies now.

Blake’s hand seemed to have moved on its own accord in answer to an unspoken call from Adam’s gaze. Under the streetlights, the bags under Adam’s eyes were prominent… and Blake’s fingers reached out to caress that sensitive skin.

Adam’s eyes fluttered close, his lashes brushing Blake’s knuckles. The touch was feather-light, and the aching intimacy of it unravelled him.

Blake thought back to the three words that remained unsent in his phone, and decided, as his thumb stroked Adam’s cheekbone, that he might as well say it now.

“I’ll miss you.”

Adam opened his eyes to look at him then, and a heavy déjà vu fell upon Blake at the memory of that one time on the red carpet when he had dared to bare himself to Adam.

This time, he was ready for it. He braced himself for the rejection—again—and simply lightened the weight of his words by adding wistfully:

“Totally in a non-sexual way.”

 

* * *

**I can be there in five**

  _All that I want, all that I want_

* * *

 

Something in Adam’s face crumpled, and the sound that escaped his throat was small and _heartbroken._ With a strength Blake didn’t know the diminutive man possessed, Adam fisted Blake’s shirt and yanked him down.

Choking back a sob, Adam breathed roughly against Blake’s lips:

“ _I can’t say the same_.”

 

* * *

  **One more, one last time**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Adam and Blake will be performing six songs each as their mashup medley—with each parallel pair highlighting a stage in their relationship.
> 
> Can you guess the next ones? :)
> 
> (Adam's and Blake's songs in real life are uncannily parallel to each other—almost as if they're singing about the same thing. What a happy coincidence.)
> 
> Songs referenced in this chapter:
> 
> "Lonely Tonight" by Blake Shelton  
> "Daylight" by Maroon 5
> 
> The title of the story is also an amalgam of Maroon 5's fourth album and Blake Shelton's tenth.


	2. i've been keeping all the letters that i wrote to you (all of my change i spent on you)

Their first song together tapers to an end, and Blake pauses for a few seconds to allow Adam to follow through with their outro. The noise of the crowd comes rushing back to Blake’s ears, breaking the trance he has been caught in. He shakes himself slightly, unwinding himself from the tangle of memories and emotions that have taken hold of him, and he throws a reassuring—if somewhat distracted—smile to the cameras and to the crowd, making the people cheer in response.

He waits for several beats as he and Adam pick up a different rhythm this time: one that is slower, and sadder.

The crowd quiets. Blake looks over at Adam… and his breath catches in his throat.

Adam’s eyes are closed, his normally animated body now completely still, and there are lines of pain marring his features as he opens their second song. A hush falls over the audience, as if sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Blake’s grip on his guitar tightens. He knows exactly what Adam is remembering… and what Adam is singing about.

Amidst the maelstrom of unwelcome memories that has now trapped them both, Blake weaves his own sorrowful lyrics in time with Adam’s, and injects every ounce of longing and comfort he can in his voice:

_I’m here, Adam._

For he knows Adam is remembering the same thing: the morning after, an empty bed, and the long, lonely road that followed.

Adam’s eyes flutter open and immediately seek him out, the way a drowning man reaches for his life’s buoy. Blake steadily holds his gaze, and Adam sends him a small, wavering smile.

_… I’m here._

 

* * *

_I'm at a payphone trying to call home  
_ _All of my change I spent on you_

 **Another summer day has come and gone away**  
**In Paris and Rome  
** **But I want to go home**

* * *

 

“ _David Foster?_ ” Blake very nearly squeaked, because he _couldn’t_ have heard right.

Michael only grinned back at him. “The one and only.”

Blake gaped at his former coach- _turned_ -music mentor- _turned_ -tour buddy- _turned_ -friend. “Are you _shittin’_ me?”

“First of all— _disgusting_ , Blake—and secondly, do I _look_ like I’m kidding?”

Blake narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at the other man. “The last time you had that look on your face, you made me sing a _Shakira_ song.”

Unfazed, Michael only arched an eyebrow at him. “And it catapulted you straight to _The Voice_ finals. ‘ _Whenever, Wherever_ ’ was number one in iTunes for the entire week.”

Blake glared. “Please wipe that smug look off your face, it doesn’t suit your baby cheeks.”

Michael merely smirked. “It made Shakira so happy that she recorded a duet with you. ‘ _Medicine_ ’ topped the country chart for _weeks_ —”

“Alright _fine_ , so _maybe_ you get the right idea _most of the time—”_

 _“—and_ was the featured performance at the ACM’s—”

“But this is _David Foster_ ’ _s concert_ you signed me up for, what the hell were you _thinking_?”

Michael looked thoroughly amused at the way Blake was flailing now. “Really Blake, what’s the big deal? It’s not like you’ll be the only one there. _I’ll_ be singing with you, if it’s any consolation. We go onstage after Kenny G and before Charice—”

“ _What?_ ”

“—and then later, you’ll be singing a solo after Celine Dion’s performance, right before Katharine McPhee—“

“ _WHAT?_ ” Blake’s voice was abnormally high-pitched now.

“—because David wants you to revive his first hit, ‘ _Wildflower_ ’, by making it into a country song.”

There were several seconds of silence as Michael beamed at him in pride.

“…I think I need to sit down.”

Michael laughed out loud when Blake collapsed onto the couch of their hotel room. “Your celebrity status finally dawning on you, cowboy?”

“I can’t be _that_ popular.” Blake looked up helplessly at his former coach. “Am I?”

Michael quirked a smile at him. “You _are_ the very first winner of _The Voice,_ in case you’ve conveniently forgotten.  America voted for you.”

“Well, America might change its mind now. Good thing there’s no such thing as elimination night anymore, otherwise I’m screwed.” He flopped his head back against the couch in despair. “ _Why_ did you put me on the same stage with Andrea— _freakin’_ —Bocelli?”

Michael shook his head as he settled down on the seat next to Blake. “I really don’t get what you’re so insecure about. I used to think it was false modesty, but now I realize you really believe that.” He nudged Blake’s shoulder playfully. “And I _cannot_ believe you have no idea how _good_ you are.”

Blake let out a sigh. Despite himself, his heart warmed at his friend’s genuine words. “I’m just a country guy, Michael. Cut me some slack if I’m a little freaked out here. This is beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Heck, even conquering Nashville once seemed like such an impossible dream.”

Michael smiled. “And yet here you are, conquering the world, and singlehandedly bringing country music back to the forefront of the entertainment industry.”

Blake had the decency to blush. “Really, Michael, I’m not as big as you make me up to be.”

“You’re six foot five, you’re practically a _giant_.”

Blake rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “And,” he added gently, sincerely, “I couldn’t have done it without you, coach.”

Michael shrugged and smiled. “Nah, I just helped. It’s all on you, cowboy.” He tilted his head to one side, remembering: “What was it that Adam Levine once famously declared on national television? He said, and I quote—”

And Michael thoroughly missed the way Blake suddenly froze.

_“Blake, you are a real vocalist, and you’re a damn good vocalist.”_

Blake’s hands curled into fists as the words reverberated wrongly inside of him, like a dissonant chord on an out-of-tune guitar.

Michael clapped his hands together and gleefully rubbed them. “That reminds me, I have one more surprise for you.”

Blake groaned. “I’m entirely too sober right now. Do I need a drink for this one?”

“Oh, I think this’ll give you a much better high.” Michael winked at him. “He’s here.”

Blake blinked. “…David Foster?”

“No.” Michael smiled. “ _Adam._ ”

 

* * *

_Where have the times gone? Baby, it's all wrong  
_ _Where are the plans we made for two?_

 **May be surrounded by a million people**  
**I still feel all alone  
** **And I wanna go home**

* * *

 

“Look at him,” Mickey Madden muttered. “Like a kid in a candy story.”

Jesse Carmichael followed his gaze and chuckled. “We’re in the City of Music. This is practically Disneyland for him.”

“It is for all of us,” Ryan Dusick piped up. “Did you guys see that display at the Museum of Music? Two hundred classical guitars, how _awesome_ is that?”

“Stop salivating, man, you don’t even _know_ how to play one,” James Valentine smirked. “Just stick to your drumsticks.”

Ryan merely flipped his finger at James, and the rest of the band dissolved into giggles.

Blake smiled at their antics. He could greatly relate to their enthusiasm and awe, because he felt exactly the same way when he strolled across the city for the first time with Michael and the rest of their crew. He had been so amazed at the grandiose sights of Paris that it completely slipped his mind that this was the one city in their entire European tour that coincided with Maroon 5’s.

Jesse slowed his gait when he noticed Blake watching them. He fell into step together with him as they both trailed behind the group. “You’d have to excuse our friends,” Jesse gestured at them sheepishly, “I think they stopped maturing when we turned fifteen.”

Blake grinned at him. “I regressed to an eight-year-old boy when I first came here, so you better count yourself lucky you got stuck with drunk teenagers instead of a snivelling kid.”

Jesse burst out laughing, making the rest of the band look back at them strangely, and he clapped a hand on Blake’s shoulder to keep himself from doubling over.

“You, Blake Shelton,” Jesse gasped out when he was finally able to catch his breath, “definitely missed your calling as a stand-up comedian.”

Up ahead, their fifth member turned around at Blake’s answering laugh, and the sound got caught in Blake’s throat when their eyes unerringly met.

 

* * *

_I know it's hard to remember  
_ _The people we used to be_

**Oh, I miss you, you know**

_It's even harder to picture,  
_ _That you're not here next to me_

* * *

 

Jesse’s gaze followed Blake’s. “He missed you, you know.”

Blake’s stomach did a somersault at the way Jesse’s tone unexpectedly turned serious. He was beginning to dread the direction this conversation was heading toward, but Jesse was patiently watching him, his eyes full of sympathy and understanding. Blake sighed.

“It sure doesn’t look like it,” he said quietly as Adam looked away with something akin to pain marring his features. “He’s been too busy with—”

Images he had seen on the media in the past few months suddenly flashed in his mind like a dizzying slideshow, and Blake had to force the words out as his throat closed bitterly, angrily.

“…with his _lovers_.”

It took a while for Blake to realize that his companion has stopped in his tracks. He turned around to look back at Jesse, whose eyes have widened as a realization seemed to strike him, and his expression cracked into one of apology and shame.

“I’m sorry,” said Jesse softly, sincerely. “That’s… kind of our fault.”

The rest of the band had already walked on ahead, far too giddy and excited for men their age. Michael Bublé and Christina Aguilera—Adam’s former coach, whose tour Maroon 5 was opening for—trailed far behind them, engaged in a serious conversation presumably about the upcoming season of _The Voice,_ which they’d have to start taping soon.

Blake and Jesse were suddenly left in an island of their own, the crowd at the _Cité de la Musique_ parting around them. All other sights and sounds seemed to fade out of Blake’s senses as he stared at the other man. “What are you talking about?”

Jesse hesitated. “Haven’t you ever wondered why we changed the band’s name from _Kara’s Flowers_ to _Maroon 5_ , even though we were essentially the same people?”

Blake had no idea where Jesse was going with this. “Wasn’t it because James joined you guys?” It had been a brilliant move on the band’s part, because James Valentine’s mad skills on the lead guitar added a different flavour to their music and took it to a whole new level—the kind that gained them recognition worldwide.

Jesse nodded. “Yes, but acknowledging that we now have five members had only been part of the reason. We invited James to join us so he can take over playing the guitar from Adam.”

Confused, Blake furrowed his brows. When Adam was still on _The Voice,_ he was rarely seen performing without his guitar. James was an exceptional guitarist, but Blake knew from experience that Adam wasn’t bad at it either. “And what did that achieve?”

“It freed Adam to be the frontman he should be, instead of being stuck with the instrument all the time.”

“What are you talking about?” Blake exclaimed. “Adam _loves_ playing the guitar, it’s not like it’s a _burden_.”

Jesse shook his head. “That’s not it at all.” He looked at Blake, trying to gauge the expression on his face, before timidly asking, “You have to admit Adam’s the most good-looking out of all of us in the band, right?”

Blake glared. “I am _not_ going to answer that.”

Jesse’s mouth quirked. “He was nominated for _People_ magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ this year.”

Blake huffed, desperately trying _not_ to think about the spread he had seen on that magazine, because Adam’s photos were pure _torture._ “Your _point,_ Jesse?”

The other man held up his hands to placate Blake’s increasingly thinning patience. “My point is that the reason why our band slowly started to gain recognition again was because of Adam’s sudden popularity with the media. _That’s_ why we changed our name. We decided to overhaul the band’s entire image to ride the wave of Adam’s promoted image as a sex god.”

Blake couldn’t help but cringe, and Jesse pressed his lips together grimly. “And with that creative decision came the overhaul not only to our music… but also to the way we marketed ourselves.”

“So then…” Blake said wonderingly, “the raunchy music videos, the red carpet appearances with those Victoria’s Secret models, even those paparazzi photos blowing up on the internet…”

“With the kind of tight security Christina has around herself and our band, don’t you think we could have hidden from the paparazzi if we wanted to?”

“They wanted to catch him with his girlfriends!”

“Blake,” Jesse gently interjected, “those models weren’t only paid to appear in our music videos. They were also paid to publicly appear _with Adam._ ”

Blake felt his world spinning, and he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. “How do you even _know_ he didn’t actually have a real relationship with any one of them?”

“Because,” Jesse answered simply, “all Adam ever talked about was you.”

 

* * *

**And I've been keeping all the letters  
** **That I wrote to you**

 _You say it's too late to make it,  
_ _But is it too late to try?_

* * *

 

Blake looked up as Jesse approached him. Jesse gave him a sad little smile and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly before he slowly walked past him. Blake was thankful for the way the other man carefully avoided looking at him, allowing Blake his privacy.

All too vividly, like an oft-played video, Blake remembered falling into Adam’s arms, crushing his mouth to his, limbs tangling and sliding and clawing beneath Adam’s sheets, bodies rocking and arching together in a hushed, frenzied dance, falling asleep with Adam’s breath and heartbeat underneath his ear… and waking up to find him gone, not knowing that it would be the last time Blake would ever see him.

“Jesse,” Blake called out before the other man could get too far. He saw the way the other man froze before visibly steeling himself when he slowly turned to look back at him.

Blake took a deep breath. “I want you to know that you have nothing to be sorry for.”

That clearly wasn’t what Jesse expected from him, judging from the way the other man’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You got hurt because of us—because of what Adam did for our band. We have _everything_ to be sorry for.”

“No,” Blake chided gently, “That was no one’s fault but mine. Because I was the one who wrongly held on to a promise that was never made.”

_And a heart that was never meant to be mine._

 

* * *

**Each one a line or two:  
** **“I’m fine, baby, how are you?”**

 _And in our time that you wasted  
_ _All of our bridges burned down_

* * *

 

“Blake,” Jesse murmured, “how well do you know Adam?”

The words shouldn’t have pierced as deeply as it did. “Not as well as I thought I did.”

Jesse gaze was faraway, looking toward the direction where the band was heading. “I’ve known him all my life. Adam and I grew up on the same neighbourhood, moved to the same cities, went to the same schools,” Jesse chuckled, “and dropped out at the same time.”

The mirth in his eyes faded into something thoughtful as he watched his friends from a distance. “Yet in all of our time together, I’ve never seen him open up to anyone the way he did to you.”

Something beneath Blake’s ribs cracked, and so did his voice. “What?”

Jesse’s eyes were kind and knowing when their gazes met. “And I’ve never seen him as happy as he was with you.”

 

* * *

**I would send them  
** **But I know that it's just not enough**

 _I've wasted my nights,_  
_You turned out the lights  
_ _Now I'm paralyzed_

* * *

 

“Then why,” Blake inwardly cursed at the way his voice trembled, “did he leave?”

Jesse looked at him sadly. “Because he’s afraid.”

That enraged Blake like nothing ever did. “I would _never_ hurt him!”

“I know,” said Jesse gently. “He isn’t afraid of you. He’s afraid _for_ you.”

“What the _hell_ does that even mean?”

“It means he’s falling in love with you... and he’s afraid he’ll destroy you.”

 

* * *

**My words were cold and flat  
** **And you deserve more than that**

 _Still stuck in that time_  
_When we called it love  
_ _But even the sun sets in paradise_

* * *

 

Blake wondered, in a fit of quiet desperation and barely suppressed hysteria, why he _always_ found himself at Adam’s door.

It opened, and Blake felt the breath knocked out of his lungs when Adam stood there, wearing the same shell-shocked expression he did the first time they found themselves separated by nothing but a damn doorway.

Blake decided to go first. “Hi.”

“… Hi.” Adam sounded so timid, so unsure, so unlike the confident and headstrong man Blake had come to know that for a fleeting moment, Blake wondered if he got the wrong hotel room.

“Jesse told me that we happened to be staying at the same hotel,” Blake tried for a smile. “I’m a couple of floors above you. I’m staying with Michael.”

“Oh.” For a brief moment (and Blake still could never understand why) Adam’s face wore that pinched look he always had every time Blake mentioned his former coach before the expression was carefully schooled into a neutral one.

There were several seconds of tense silence before Blake finally broke it with a sigh.

“I know how awkward this is, after several months of… not being around each other,” Blake said carefully, “and it’s okay if you want to, you know, keep it that way—”

“ _Blake,_ ” Adam broke in helplessly, “That’s not—I never _meant_ to—god, I’m _so sorry—_ ”

“Adam,” Blake halted him gently. “I just wanted to give you this.”

 

* * *

**Another airplane, another sunny place**  
**I'm lucky I know, but I wanna go home  
** **I've got to home**

 _I'm at a payphone trying to call home  
_ _All of my change I spent on you_

* * *

 

Adam stared at the bundle of postcards Blake handed him.

“One for each city I’ve been to during the tour,” Blake explained softly. “I’ve been getting you a postcard every time I went to a new place, but I couldn’t send them because I had no idea where in the world you were at the moment either so I simply… kept them all.” Blake scratched the back of his head self-consciously, suddenly realizing how incredibly stupid he sounded. “At least I can give them all to you now.”

Adam was silent and still, looking at the letters in his hands, as if unsure of what to do with them.

“That’s… that’s all, I guess,” mumbled Blake. “I know it’s late, and you guys have a big show tomorrow with Christina, so you better go get your beauty rest and—”

“I’ve been calling you,” Adam blurted out. “On payphones.”

Blake blinked. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Adam admitted. “I’ve been calling your mobile and you… you never answered.”

Blake gaped at him. “They were unregistered numbers, _of course_ I wouldn’t answer them, I thought they were—”

“Stalkers?”

“I was going to say ‘telephone marketers.’ Only you, Adam, would have to worry about stalkers.” He shook his head. “You couldn’t have just called me using _your_ own mobile? Or shoot me an e-mail, like a normal person?”

Adam sighed. “Christina banned all forms of communication. Cut us off from the internet and even the hotel telephones for the rest of the tour. She even had our gadgets confiscated and everything after that Twitter fiasco.”

Blake was intrigued. “ _What_ Twitter fiasco?”

“The PR catastrophe that happened when _someone,_ ” James suddenly piped up behind Adam, “was drunk enough to publicly tweet his _actual mobile number,_ and broke both the cellular company _and_ the Internet when his hordes of fangirls wouldn’t stop _calling his phone._ ”

Blake stared as Adam’s face fell to his hands in embarrassment. “No kidding?”

“Christina was _furious_ ,” Ryan added gleefully next to James. “It was very entertaining to watch her talk Adam’s ear off about responsible drinking and the dangers of social networking and what it means to be an adult.”

“ _Worst_ experience of my life,” Adam muttered, his words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Sometimes when he’d sneak out of the tour bus, I thought it was to go and have a sordid affair with a fan or something,” Mickey joked as he appeared behind them. “We should have known he was simply trying to find a way to contact _you_ , Blake.”

 

* * *

**Let me go home**

_Where have the times gone? Baby, it's all wrong  
_ _Where are the plans we made for two?_

* * *

 

Before they parted ways at the _Cité de la Musique,_ Jesse had one last thing to say to him.

_“Give him time. Let him see for himself how indestructible you are. Eventually, he’ll realize that the one thing he’s protecting you from—the one thing he thinks will destroy you—is the one thing you’ve had all along.”_

_“And what’s that?”_

 

* * *

**I’ve had my run**  
**Baby I’m done  
** **I’m coming back home**

 _If "Happy Ever After" did exist,  
_ _I would still be holding you like this_

* * *

 

Jesse was the last to appear at the door, and he smiled when his gaze met Blake’s.

“ _His heart.”_

 

* * *

**Let me go home**

_All those fairy tales are full of it  
_ _One more stupid love song, I'll be sick_

* * *

 

Blake chuckled in amusement at the way all five of them crowded behind the small hotel door. “What is this, a sleepover? Are y’all six years old?”

“Adam challenged James to a game of Guitar Hero.” Ryan’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Wanna see who’s the better guitarist, Blake?”

“Blake’s biased, you _know_ who he’d be rooting for,” Mickey complained.

“Of course,” Blake said with a straight face. “I’m rooting for you, James.”

Adam shot him such a betrayed look that Blake couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, you better prove us all wrong, rock star.”

Adam’s gaze softened, dear and painfully familiar to Blake, though something in his eyes remained cautiously guarded. It was not quite the same way Adam used to look at Blake.

But it was very, very close.

“You’re on, big country.”

The rest of the band cheered, and Adam opened the door wider to let Blake in.

 

* * *

**It will all be alright**  
**I’ll be home tonight  
** **I'm coming back home**

* * *

 

Blake’s eyes met Adam’s for the first time in a very long time, and the heaviness that had been choking Blake’s lungs lifted and cleared, like a disease that was finally cured.

And as they shared a look and a small, quiet smile... it felt a little like coming home.

 

* * *

_Now I'm at a payphone_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:
> 
> "Payphone" by Maroon 5  
> "Home" by Blake Shelton
> 
> Blake's appearance at the "David Foster and Friends" concert was a real thing, as well as his duet with Michael Bublé, who was the original writer and singer of "Home." Blake and Shakira also performed "Medicine" during the 2014 ACMA.
> 
> What Jesse said about the band's decision to overhaul their music with the arrival of James Valentine is also somewhat true, as well as the choice to make Adam their frontman in every aspect. If you listen to "Soap Disco" by Kara's Flowers, the music has an entirely different feel to it compared to the tracks on "Songs About Jane."


	3. with you as a poison in my veins (i'll never recover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Potentially triggering medical symptoms. Please read with caution.

Adam’s voice wavers on the last note, and he steps back from the mic to catch his breath.  The seemingly hypnotized crowd snaps back into the moment with Adam’s sharp inhale, and they burst into applause.

Blake feels his heart swelling along with them.

Adam looks up when Blake touches his shoulder lightly—a gesture that is partly questioning, and partly comforting.  In answer, Adam reaches over to grasp Blake’s hand, curling his pale, slender fingers over Blake’s work-callused ones, holding Blake in a gaze as unwavering as his grip. 

Blake leans closer and touches his forehead to Adam’s, watching Adam’s eyes flutter close as the younger man simply _breathes_ Blake in, savouring his presence, this moment, _them._

And Blake knows, suspended in this unspoken connection, that Adam is thinking— _feeling_ —the same: even if the rest of the world fades away right now, none of it would matter, not when they can simply be together like this.

But as the chanting of the crowd steadily increases, reminding them of where they are and—more importantly— _who_ they are, Blake also knows they both have to devote their full attention, at least for the meantime, to their first love.

Music is such a possessive muse, after all.

Blake watches as amusement lifts the corners of Adam’s mouth and makes the crinkles appear in his eyes as he opens them, and Adam breathes out a huff of laughter when Blake smiles in answer, warm and fond.

“Never going to recover from this,” Adam murmurs, not quite far enough from the mic, and his whisper carries across the speakers and throughout the arena.

Everyone hears, and the crowd cheers in response.

Blake grins.  He knows that Adam says it half-deliberately, for he can just as easily mean _this:_ the all-encompassing _craziness_ of their life, their _world_ now, with all the people screaming their name and singing along to their songs, the way they once can only dream about.

But Blake also fully understands the other half Adam secretly means.

“Let’s take this all the way,” says Blake to the mic—half to the audience, and half to Adam—before he steps back, strums his guitar, and opens their next song together.

 

* * *

  **If I could, I would dare  
****Feed your dreams and starve your fears**

_I know your insides are feeling so hollow  
_ _And it’s a hard pill for you to swallow_

* * *

Blake told himself it was only because he happened to be in LA as part of the promotional events _The Voice_ had asked him to help launch, in order to build up anticipation for the show’s upcoming second season. And it also happened that Jesse had asked him to do this is as a favour, because he—along with the rest of the band—was also busy on the other side of the state with their _own_ promotional events for Maroon 5, and Blake had found himself unwilling to turn down a friend he had admittedly grown fond of.

Coincidence. That was really the only reason he was here— _again_. Convenient proximity, and gratitude for an unexpected friendship.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with the way his gut is twisting itself into knots with worry because of Jesse’s cryptic text messages about their _idiot_ of a friend. 

‘ _Hey Blake!  You’re in LA right now, right?’_

Jesse’s first message had been innocuous enough, and Blake had found himself brightening at hearing from him.

_‘Yeah, I am.  What’s up?’_

The next message that came had made Blake’s heart stop beating for a millisecond.

_'Can you come over to his apartment and check up on Adam?’_

His fingers couldn’t type out the question fast enough.

_‘Why? Is he okay?’_

When Jesse’s reply came, Blake could almost hear the tentative, concerned tone of the words through the screen.

‘ _I’m not sure.  The boys and I have been calling to get his input about the promos we’re doing here in San Francisco, but he hasn’t been answering.’_

Blake had frowned.  That, indeed, didn’t sound like Adam at all.  If there’s one thing Adam pours his entire being into—the one thing in the world he’s utterly devoted to—it’s his professional _and_ personal relationship with Maroon 5.

Adam never ignores his friends.  _Never._

Blake had sent back to Jesse:  _‘Have you tried texting him?’_

_‘Yeah, but his replies were full of typos and weirdly worded sentences. Which could’ve been just him being deliberately annoying, except for how he’s the biggest grammar Nazi on the planet.’_

Before Blake could even come up with a plausible explanation to ease Jesse’s mind, he had already received another message.

_‘I’m worried, Blake.  And I know him well enough to know when I should worry for real.  This time is one of them.’_

Blake had sighed.

‘ _Alright, MOM, stop fretting. I’m going.’_

He could almost _feel_ Jesse’s relief through the message.

_‘Thanks, Blake.  I’m sorry to dump this onto your lap all of a sudden, but you’re the only one I know who has access to his place.’_

Blake froze.  It had been several minutes before he could even form a coherent enough thought to type out a message, his fingers trembling.

_‘It’s been a long time, bud.  He might have already changed the lock.’_

Jesse had seemed just as surprised as Blake was, because it took awhile before Blake received a reply.

_‘Oh Blake.  You really don’t know?’_

_‘Know what?’_

 

* * *

**If I could light the world**  
**We could sit and watch it burn**

 _But if I fall for you  
_ _I'll never recover_

* * *

Blake had tried texting and calling Adam ahead of time to inform him that he was dropping by, but—true to Jesse’s word—Adam wasn’t answering him either. When he arrived at Adam’s apartment, he even rang the doorbell a couple of times for good measure, but there was no movement coming from inside the apartment. 

That didn’t make sense.  Adam’s car was parked in the driveway, and you couldn’t make the man take public transportation even if his life depended on it, so Adam _had_ to be home.

So why wasn’t Adam answering?

A thousand possibilities suddenly raced through Blake’s mind one after the other, each more horrible than the last, and suddenly Blake wished he had his shotgun with him right now.

His hunter instincts kicked in, and Blake steeled his resolve as he stealthily went on a thorough investigation around the perimeter.  After he made his round, the adrenaline-fuelled hammering of his heart slowed a little when he saw for himself that there wasn’t any sign of forced entry.  At least he could now eliminate the worst of his suspicions.

He found himself back at the front door and tried to sift through his scrambling thoughts to find a rational reason to hang onto.

Was Adam _sick_? If he was, exactly how debilitating was whatever he had that he couldn’t even answer his phone, let alone his front door?

Blake chewed his lip, the worry settling into his gut despite himself. He didn’t want to have to do this, but now that he exhausted all other possibilities, he now had no choice.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled it out.  He opened his fingers and stared at it as he remembered Jesse’s last message.

The cool metal felt heavy on his palm.

_‘You’re the only one who has a key.’_

 

* * *

**We could fall asleep inside the glow**

_If I fall for you  
_ _I'll never be the same_

* * *

_“_ Adam?” Blake called out as soon as he let himself in—slowly, hesitantly, ready to retreat in case his presence was unwelcome.  “Are you in here?”

There was no answer.  Blake looked around and frowned.  The apartment, while certainly clean, was quite a bit messier than Blake expected from a neat freak like Adam.  It looked like Adam hadn’t tidied up for a couple of days.

Unwilling to touch what was obviously privately written work, Blake bypassed the scores and sheet music scattered randomly around the living room and headed into the kitchen.  He opened the fridge and pursed his lips when he saw how it was nearly empty.  It looked like it had been a while since Adam went out grocery shopping, which was also unusual. Blake knew Adam religiously kept his food supplies fully stocked.  Feeling the worry beginning to build in his chest, Blake decided to head down the hallway.

Adam’s bedroom was ajar.

Blake swallowed around his suddenly dry throat.  His traitorous mind suddenly flashed back to the last time he was in there—his first and last time together with Adam.

Like a million tiny needles, pinpricks of pain seemed to surround his heart at the memory.  He remembered exactly which pieces of furniture they had stumbled against in the heat of their passion, and his mind’s eye could still trace the exact path of the trail of clothes they had shed from Adam’s front door all the way to his bed.

He shook his head to clear it, and followed that same path now.

“Adam?” Blake called out softly as he pushed the bedroom door open.

He squinted his eyes against the dark.  The light from the hallway cast a single ray across the sheets, and it illuminated the tightly-coiled lump lying miserably in the middle of the bed.

“Oh _Adam,_ ” Blake breathed.

In response, Adam only curled tighter against himself, the sheets bunching inside his fists.  “ _Hurts_ ,” Adam groaned, “ _please_ —I can’t _—_ the _light—_ ”

Blake’s eyes widened as Adam struggled to bite the words out, his face contorted in absolute pain.  Blake closed the door—quickly but carefully, so that it wouldn’t make a sound—and immediately the room was cloaked in shadow, the only illumination coming from the translucent glow of the early evening light through Adam’s curtains. And even then, Blake noticed that Adam was huddled on the part of the bed that was farthest from the window, as if the light might somehow burn him.

Slowly, Blake made his way toward the bed and gingerly sat on one corner, careful not to jostle Adam.  He reached out to brush his fingers against Adam’s head, and Adam let out a sigh and _whimpered_ , arching against Blake’s hand, mutely pleading for comfort that Blake suddenly wanted very much to be in his power to give.

 

* * *

  _I really wanna love somebody  
__I really wanna dance the night away_

 **So tell me what I gotta do to win you over  
** **You'll never have to wonder if you need another**

* * *

 

“Adam,” Blake whispered as he tenderly combed his fingers through Adam’s hair, “I’m going to ask you some questions to try and figure out what’s going on, okay?”  When Adam’s eyebrows further scrunched in protest, Blake soothed the harried lines by gently running his thumb over them.  “You don’t have to speak, you can just nod or shake your head, alright?”

Adam nodded.

Blake took a deep breath.  “I assume you haven’t been drinking?”

Adam let out an exasperated sigh and nodded again.

“Okay. At least this isn’t a hangover, because it sure doesn’t look like it.”

Blake tried to quash down the dread that was creeping up his chest. He was starting to recognize the signs, especially because—as he remembered Jesse’s description of Adam’s messages—he was beginning to suspect this particular symptom as transient aphasia.

“How long have you been like this?  Since this morning?”

Adam shook his head.

“Longer than that?  Yesterday?”

Adam nodded, and Blake’s heart twisted in knowing that Adam had been suffering like this for that long—and that he had been needlessly alone in his pain. Blake felt immense gratitude at Jesse for contacting him, mixed with the gnawing guilt that he should have checked up on Adam more often.

“Why? What happened?”

Adam opened his eyes blearily to give Blake a meaningful look.

Despite himself, Blake’s mouth quirked.  “You have absolutely no idea why, and you really can’t talk right now. Sorry.”

Adam gave him a small smile, grateful for Blake’s unspoken understanding, before he closed his eyes again, as if the effort to keep them open was too much. Blake pressed his lips together in sympathy.

“I know it’s hard for you to talk right now, but I have to know,” Blake says in a soft, apologetic tone.  “What hurts the most?”

In answer, Adam only pushed and rubbed desperately against Blake’s hand.

“My head,” Adam whispered hoarsely.  “My _fucking_ head.”

And Blake stilled.

The last time someone said the exact same thing in the exact same manner under the exact same situation was a very, very long time ago.

And it had been someone he loved very, very much, too.  Once upon a time.

Amidst the ache that seared across his chest—the bullet of lost love fired from the handgun of buried memories reopening an old wound—Blake whispered furiously:

“ _Damn it, not again_.”

 

* * *

  **You'll never have to wonder if I understand**

 _I know we're only half way there  
_ _But you can take me all the way_

* * *

 

Blake began to stand up from the bed, but found his movement hindered by a vicelike grip on his shirt. 

“Adam,” Blake soothed him when the younger man’s eyes flashed open and sought him in a panic, “I’m just going to get something that I think might help with the pain.”  He rubbed Adam’s arm comfortingly.  “I’ll be back, I promise.”

Adam pursed his lips in protest, but relented when he saw the sincerity in Blake’s eyes and words.  Slowly, Adam unclasped his fingers from Blake’s clothes, even as his face seemed to betray how difficult it was for him to let go.

A sudden wave of emotion tightened Blake’s throat.  The fear and vulnerability in Adam’s stormy hazel eyes were all too familiar, for he had seen it far too often in the past, reflected in infinitely blue eyes that had once been beloved to him. Wordlessly, he slipped quietly out of the bedroom.

He quickly went outside and strode over to where he had parked his truck. He opened the glove compartment and reached in for the pills he knew he would find there—the ones he had been trying so hard every day to forget. 

As soon as his fist closed over the bottle, the memories slammed onto him, and he staggered backward at the unexpected force of it.

Blake cursed roughly under his breath.  “Pull yourself together,” he told himself angrily.  He couldn’t give in to this battle he had been continuously fighting for _years_ now, not when Adam—

Blake swallowed thickly.  Not when Adam _needed_ him.

He slammed the truck door close and rushed back inside the apartment. He pocketed the medicine and detoured swiftly into the kitchen to fill up a glass of water.  Then, remembering something crucial, he turned towards the fridge and frowned.

“Please tell me you at least keep one in here, Adam,” he muttered under his breath, then let out a hushed “ _Yes!_ ” when he opened the freezer door and found exactly what he was looking for.

Blake whispered an apology when Adam threw an arm around his eyes to shield them from the light that spilled in when Blake reentered the bedroom. _Sensitivity to light: check,_ Blake mentally noted, before he quickly shut the door and made his way back at Adam’s side.  He set the glass of water by Adam’s bedside, and then gently took hold of Adam’s arm and pulled it away from his face.

“This is going to be cold,” Blake said quietly, “but it’s going to help.”

Adam inhaled sharply in surprise when Blake placed the ice pack over his eyes, before he let out a long, drawn-out, guttural groan of relief.

Blake smiled.  “Good?”

Adam nodded weakly. 

Blake bit his lip.  He was deathly afraid of what he was going to ask next.  The tragedy of what happened last time still haunted him, and seeing the same thing happening to Adam— _of all people_ —was like reliving a nightmare he had fought for years to keep at bay.

 _Why_ , he thought despairingly, _does this always happen to the people I love most?_

Blake took a deep breath.  Despite how the demons of his past were clawing at him, he was determined to fight them.

“Adam… how’s your vision?”

Adam silently pondered that question for a long moment as he held the cold compress in place over his eyes.  With great difficulty, he answered, “Seeing things.”

His words were slightly slurred, and Blake’s heart twisted with sympathy as Adam struggled to communicate, the frustration at suddenly having a faulty connection between his brain and his mouth clear on his features. Finally, Adam settled on one word that seemed to be the perfect description of what was flashing in his eyes:

“Lightning.”

Blake’s creased features smoothened as understanding dawned. “Like a jagged, flickering arc of light?”

Adam’s mouth fell open in surprise.  “Exactly,” he said in amazement.  “How…?”

Blake let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief.  _Visual aura: check._ Adam thankfully wasn’t experiencing any hallucinations or vision loss, so all things considered this was the _least_ worrisome of all the symptoms, for which Blake was grateful.

He blinked when Adam reached out, his fingers blindingly grasping at the air. Blake quickly caught his hand. In response, Adam pulled Blake closer and held Blake’s arm against his chest.  He tried his best to speak.  “Have you ever…?”

Blake’s gaze softened at what Adam was attempting to ask, and it warmed him from the inside out that even now, in the throes of pain, Adam was thinking of his welfare, too.  “No, I never went through this.  But…” he trailed off for a moment, wondering how much he should say.  “I took care of someone who did.  A long time ago.  That’s why all this is so familiar to me.”

 

* * *

  **And every time you reach for me  
****You’ll find a hand out**

_You can take me all the way_

* * *

 

Blake’s phone suddenly beeped with a message, the minuscule sound harsh and jarring in the hushed darkness of Adam’s room.  Adam gave a start and cringed.

 _Sensitivity to sound: check,_ Blake noted again before he chided himself and placed his phone on silent.  With his free hand, he swiped at the screen.  Jesse’s message floated up.

‘ _How is he?’_

Because Adam adamantly refused to let go of his other hand, Blake fumbled to type a reply one-handed.

_‘I think I know what’s wrong with him.  Has he been depressed or irritable lately?’_

_‘More than he was without you, you mean?’_

_‘… Jesse.’_

_‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  He seemed tired the other day though, before we left.  Been yawning a lot.’_

_‘And going to the bathroom a lot too, I’m guessing?’_

_‘Whoa. Yes.  How did you know?  I thought it was just the insane amount of coffee he had downed that time.’_

_‘He should’ve laid off the caffeine.  That’s the most potent trigger.’_

_‘What? A trigger for what?’_

A sudden hard tug on his arm yanked Blake’s attention away from the screen. Adam had peeled back the ice pack to give Blake the best glare he could under the circumstances.

“Bublé?”

Blake blinked at the completely unexpected non-sequitur. “Michael, you mean?” Blake furrowed his brows when Adam’s scowl only deepened.  “Do you want to talk to him?”

“ _No,”_ was the vehement answer, which only served to confuse Blake more.

“…Okay?” Blake waited patiently as Adam struggled to communicate what he wanted to say.

Finally, Adam settled on: “Text… textmate.  Phone.  Bublé?”

“Oh,” said Blake, finally realizing what Adam was asking.  “Actually, it’s Jesse I’m texting.  The boys are worried about you too.”

“So… _not_ Bublé?”

Blake sighed at the man’s stubbornness.  “No, Adam, it’s not Michael whom I’m talking to right now.”

And despite the haze of pain clouding Adam’s features, some of his signature cockiness shone through as he smirked.  “ _Good_.”

Blake didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused, so he settled for a bit of both.  “You know, Adam, considering how he’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever known, someday you’re going to have to explain to me why you hate Michael so much.”

Adam only huffed. “Obvious.”  His other hand moved to cover the one already holding Blake’s against his chest, effectively trapping Blake’s arm in both hands. 

“Actually, it’s not obvious to me,” said Blake in wonder.  He remembered how, in a different time and place, he used to reach out to caress blonde tresses that used to be so dear to him, only to have that person recoil from him, his touch hurting instead of helping.

He wondered how it was possible that—if he was indeed suffering through the same thing—Adam was seeking his touch instead of shying away from it.

 

* * *

  _I really wanna touch somebody  
__I’ll think about you every single day_

 **So tell me what I gotta do to win you over  
** **You'll never have to wonder if you need another**

* * *

 

His phone vibrated silently; it was James this time.  Blake smiled sheepishly at the all caps in the message. Clearly, the boys were collectively waiting for him to text back, and the prolonged delay in the reply had been fraying their nerves.

‘ _BLAKE YOU GIANT HICK.  Don’t leave us hanging like that.’_

_'Sorry for the late reply.  Adam wouldn’t let go.’_

_‘We know.  He never truly did.’_

_‘I meant MY HAND.’_

_‘Of course.  Adam had always been the hopeless romantic.’_

If his hands had actually been free, Blake would’ve thrown them in the air in exasperation. _“_ Oh _for_ _crying out loud—”_

Mickey decided to join in the conversation with a more serious question, which sobered Blake immediately.

‘ _Do you know what’s wrong with Adam?’_

_‘I think I caught him at the tail end of his prodromal phase. I’m glad I caught his aura phase just as it’s starting.’_

_‘Uh… are you still speaking in English?’_

Before he could reply to Mickey, Ryan chose that moment to put his two cents in, making Blake sigh and wonder why they’re all texting him in a group message when they’re probably in the same room anyway. 

_‘Did you ever go to medical school and just forgot to tell us? How do you know so much about… whatever this is that Adam’s going through?_

And because Adam’s friends were quickly becoming his, too—and beginning to be as precious to him as they were to Adam—Blake decided they deserved the truth… even though the admission tore at him to reveal. 

‘ _Because someone I once loved had the exact same condition.’_

There were several long seconds in which none of them replied. Blake could imagine them in his mind’s eye: the four of them exchanging questioning looks as they processed Blake’s latest message to Ryan.

Finally, it was Jesse who had the courage to ask.

‘ _Where’s that someone now?’_

The familiar twinge of his heart at the innocently personal question caught Blake off guard.

Even after all this time… it still _hurt_.

‘ _Left me behind.’_

 _Just like Adam did—_ remained unspoken, but understood.

 

* * *

**You'll never have to wonder if I understand**

 _I know we're only half way there  
_ _But you can take me all the way_

* * *

His arm was suddenly seized in a grip so fierce and tight that Adam’s nails dug onto Blake’s skin.  Adam had shot up in bed and was now looking at Blake through wild eyes.

“Bucket,” Adam hissed.

Blake couldn’t even begin to interpret that—the aphasia shouldn’t have lasted this long.  Swallowing down his rising panic, Blake asked as calmly he could:  “Adam? What’s wrong?”

Adam was shaking as his other hand grasped Blake’s collar urgently. “Bathroom.  Bucket.  _Now_.”

Blake’s eyes widened as he suddenly recognized the symptom for what it was.

_Nausea._

Blake bolted out of the bed—ignoring the sting in his skin as Adam inadvertently scratched him because of his unrelenting hold—and dashed to the bathroom to grab the bucket he knew was there.  He returned just in time as Adam clutched his stomach and doubled over. Blake knelt by Adam’s bed and held the bucket underneath Adam’s head.

Blake’s hand moved soothingly up and down Adam’s back as he retched over the bucket.  Blake noted that it was more of a dry heave—there was barely anything coming out of Adam’s stomach, which was what alarmed Blake the most.

Blake grabbed some tissue from the nightstand to wipe gently at Adam’s mouth. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

Adam shook his head.  “Don’t remember. Makes me sick.”

Blake’s eyebrows furrowed.  “The food?”

“And the smell.”

 _Sensitivity to strong odours and tastes: check,_ Blake noted grimly. While he never had firsthand experience, Blake witnessed it often enough to recognize that Adam was hypersensitive right now—everything was suddenly _too much_.  Adam’s brain was firing neurons wrongly, turning his senses up to eleven and tricking his body into being abnormally hyperaware: what used to be pleasurable, neutral, or even merely tolerable all were now absolute _agony._

Which was exactly why Adam shouldn’t be able to stand Blake’s presence at the moment—Adam’s sense of touch should be overly sensitive right now, too.

And yet, instead of turning away from him, Adam tucked his face into the crook of Blake’s neck and shoulder, breathing deeply and heavily, like a drowning man gasping for oxygen.  It was as if Blake was the only buoy keeping him afloat… as if he was the one thing Adam couldn’t get enough of.

Blake may have perfectly understood Adam’s condition, but for the life of him, Blake simply couldn’t understand _Adam._

“What’s wrong with me?” Adam whimpered wretchedly against Blake’s skin. His arms went around Blake’s neck, anchoring himself to the only safe harbour in the waves of torment threatening to take him under.

And in feeling the minute trembling of Adam’s body as it fought the signals of pain his brain was misfiring everywhere… Blake surrendered the fight against himself.  He bit back all the reasons why he swore he’d never do this again and wrapped his own arms around Adam’s torso.

“You have a migraine,” Blake spoke onto Adam’s hair.  “And if I’m reading the symptoms right… the attack is only just beginning.  We have to stop it before it gets even worse.”

 _And I can’t let this happen._ Blake tightened his embrace.  _Not to you. Never to you._

_I won’t survive this time if it’s you, Adam._

 

* * *

  **And every time you reach for me  
****You’ll find a hand out**

_You can take me all the way_

* * *

 

Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Adam, Blake reached into his pocket for the pill bottle.

“Hold out your hand,” Blake murmured against Adam’s ear, and Adam mutely obeyed. Blake popped the cap open and shook out a single pill onto Adam’s palm. 

Adam curled his fingers over it and looked at Blake questioningly.

“It’s Sumatriptan,” Blake explained as he reached for the glass of water on Adam’s nightstand.  “It’ll help stop the flashing lights and the pain.”

Adam popped the pill onto his mouth before Blake could explain any further, making Blake gape in shock for a moment before he fumbled to support the glass as Adam took a sip of the water.

“Adam,” Blake stuttered, watching Adam’s throat bob as he swallowed. “I was supposed to check first whether you or your family has a history of heart problems.  Sumatriptan might cause complications.”

Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Blake took the glass back. He exhaled shakily, but managed to offer a reassuring smile at Blake.  “No history.”

Blake let out a sigh of relief… and realized at the feel of their mingled breaths how close they suddenly were.  It seemed to dawn upon Adam too as his hazy gaze sharpened, and as Blake’s eyes met his, he saw up close how Adam’s pupils dilated.

Blake swiftly closed his eyes.  He was heading into dangerous territory here, and he needed to reign himself in before he did anything both of them might later regret.

Again.

The feel of gentle fingers brushing his jaw made his eyes flutter open again, and this time, one look at Adam took his breath away. 

He had never seen Adam look so afraid.  Or so vulnerable.

And in that moment of clarity, Blake finally— _finally_ —understood.

 

* * *

  _I don't know where to start, I'm just a little lost_

 **If I could take you in  
** **Feeling you deep within my skin**

* * *

 

 _I can do anything and say anything right now,_ Blake thought dazedly as he stared at Adam, _and you’ll be completely powerless to stop me._

_And that’s the strangest thing.  Because even if you can, I think you’ll still let me.  Even if it hurts, you’ll let me do anything to you—touch you, talk to you, make you take a drug you’ve never even heard of before—because that’s how much you trust me._

_Because that’s how much—_

And Blake’s eyes widened as Jesse’s words came back to him.

‘ _He isn’t afraid of you.  He’s afraid_ for _you.’_

_… That’s how much you love me._

 

* * *

_I wanna feel like we’re never gonna ever stop_

**Then I could slip away  
** **With you as a poison in my veins**

* * *

“Blake?” Adam whispered hesitantly, his gaze darting across Blake’s face.

_That’s why you left.  Because you realized early on that I’ll let you hurt me, too.  That’s what terrified you._

_You’re afraid of my trust in you, because you don’t trust yourself enough to keep me._

Gently, Blake took hold of the fingers questing across his cheek and tucked them into his chest. 

_I don’t want to hurt you either, Adam.  But I’m more selfish than you are.  Because even though I know I’m hurting you right now… I can’t leave you._

_Because being with you hurts a lot less than being without you._

He leaned forward, making Adam’s breath catch, and touched his forehead to Adam’s.

_Besides… you’ve already hurt me, anyway, yet somehow… I’m still here._

 

* * *

  _I don't know what to do, I’m right in front of you  
__Asking you to stay, you should stay_

* * *

“You need to sleep,” Blake told him softly.  “You need to rest to get your strength back.  When the medicine kicks in, you might be able to eat again.”

Adam perked up a little at that.  “You’ll cook?”

Blake chuckled.  “Anything you want.”

And then Adam’s features _softened_ in a way that Blake hadn’t seen in a very long time—and even then, there was something different this time.

Something more… _genuine_.

“You’ll stay?”

It was a plea, a question, and a startling realization all in one, and at the wonder in Adam’s voice, Blake couldn’t help but tighten his arms around Adam for a second before releasing him with a smile. 

“Yes. I’m staying.”

 

* * *

  **I don’t wanna fall asleep alone**

* * *

 

Blake helped Adam lower himself back to the bed, and Adam grimaced at the twinge of pain that shot through him at the sudden movement.

“Careful,” Blake murmured as he tucked Adam in.  “It’ll take a while before the medicine takes effect. If the pain still doesn’t subside, I’ll have you take some Mefenamic Acid along with the Sumatriptan. But that might be a little too strong already, so I’ll have to observe you first.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile even as he closed his eyes. “Noted, Dr. Shelton.”

Blake shook his head, even as warmth burst from his chest to spread across his body in a relieved, happy glow.

_I failed to take care of the one I love once.  I’m not going to let it happen again.  I’m not going to lose you too, Adam._

_So please… please let me keep you._

 

* * *

**And wake up knowing that I died  
** **Without the one**

* * *

 

Adam let out a pained sound, and Blake surmised that his head was beginning to throb, the way attacks like this progressed.  He brushed the hair away from Adam’s forehead as Adam settled his head on the pillow.

“It’ll be okay, rock star,” Blake murmured soothingly at him.

 _I’m not leaving_ , is what he meant.

Adam reached out and unerringly found Blake’s hand once again, even without seeing it. 

“Thank you, big country.”

He laced his fingers through Blake’s and let his thumb brush over Blake’s knuckles, his touch more telling than his words.

 _Neither am I._  

 

* * *

  _Stay with me tonight_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** I do not, in any way, encourage the use of Sumatriptan or Mefenamic Acid or any similar medication without a proper diagnosis or—more importantly—a doctor's prescription. The only reason why I used these drugs as an example in the story is because I suffer from the exact same condition Adam has, and Sumatriptan is the treatment my doctor prescribed to me. Unfortunately, it's a condition that has no cure, and has no apparent cause. Fortunately, it's treatable, and isn't life-threatening.
> 
> ... The pain, though. The first time the attack happened, it lasted for three days. Because at the time, it was untreated—and undiagnosed—it was the single most excruciating 72 hours of my life.
> 
> (I wish I had someone like Blake at the time. Sigh.)
> 
> Songs referenced in this chapter:
> 
> "Over" by Blake Shelton  
> "Love Somebody" by Maroon 5


End file.
